


hashtag blessed

by elegantstupidity



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Mixed Media, Pregnancy, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11877273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Ginny should've known that the minute she announced her pregnancy, the internet would be all over it. Four years in the majors hasn't done much to cool Ginn-sanity, after all.What she couldn't have known, though, was how much her husband would encourage it.Or: Ginny's pregnancy goes viral and she's a little bemused by it all.





	hashtag blessed

**Author's Note:**

> alwayskels sent me this prompt forever ago: _Ginny is pregnant with Bawson's first baby and her appetite is insatiable! It turns into a thing where like fans take pics with her at restaurants #EatWithBabyBawson. It's all one big joke in good fun. Mike and the team have a field day with it._
> 
> Hope it's worth the wait!

 

The fact that everyone, from bloggers to commentators to fans to people who’d never actually watched a game of baseball in their life, immediately read into Ginny’s placement on the 60-Day DL shouldn’t have been such a surprise. It seemed like every time Ginny so much as changed her coffee order, the public at large was eager to dissect and discuss the incident ad nauseam.

This was no different.

_Another elbow strain. Tommy John for sure. She’s out for the season._

_No, it’s just a jammed finger I think. They probably wanna make room on the roster, try out some of the newer prospects in AAA._

_But did you see her favor her left hip last week? Her landing was off the entire game against the Rockies. It’s gotta be that._

And, of course:  _Well, what if she’s pregnant?_

By far, that was the most popular diagnosis.

If it weren’t also 100% correct, Ginny probably wouldn’t be so annoyed about it all.

Then again, the sheer number of times a possible Ginny Baker pregnancy had been rumored and reported on—She walked out of a restaurant with her hand on her stomach? Pregnant. Had a less than stellar outing on the mound? Super pregnant. Sent Mike out to CVS to get tampons because she couldn’t be bothered to pull herself together enough to leave the house? Obviously trying to cover up the fact that she was, you guessed it: pregnant—someone had to hit on the truth eventually. 

It was cold comfort.

It’d be a little funny if it wasn’t her uterus constantly under such scrutiny. And if she hadn’t had all these hormones flooding her system for the past three months.

As it was, Mike was much better situated to find the humor in the situation. He was currently sitting by her side on the couch, one arm draped casually over her shoulders, reading out the responses he liked the most and counting the number of people who’d finally gotten it right. He could afford to find it all funny, though. He’d only been involved in the parts that were fun for them both.

Which wasn’t precisely fair, Ginny knew.

In the three or so weeks since Ginny’d told him the news, her husband had been on cloud nine. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been trying for this in the general sense—they both wanted kids, but Ginny was still going strong with the Padres and Mike was willing to wait—but they hadn’t put a lot of effort into it. (Aside from getting as much practice in the baby-making department as they could.) 

So, Ginny’d gone off to Spring Training, not once suspecting what might be forming somewhere behind her belly button.

Not until she couldn’t stop throwing up.

It was so bad, she’d had to skip a start. She’d told Al it was just the stomach flu, and even believed it. Only his skeptical smile and insistence on a doctor’s appointment made her wonder if it was something else.

Needless to say, the skipper’s suspicions paid off. She was pregnant. Nearly nine weeks along.

Ginny will never, as long as she lives, forget the look of awe and tender devotion that took over Mike’s face as she told him, shell-shocked and jittery and still happy as hell, that he was going to be a dad.

His hand came up to cup her cheek, and Ginny could feel the way his fingers trembled. Just like his lips as he swallowed, eyes shining. “I’m gonna be a dad?” he repeated, like he needed to hear it again, just to be sure.

She nodded, covering his hand with hers, and finally letting the brilliant, excited grin spread across her face. “Yeah,” she breathed, just before he crashed into her, his lips stretched just as wide as hers.

And how could she help but laugh when he wrenched himself away, his hands fluttering uncertainly near her stomach. “Shit! Are you all right?”

“I’m pregnant, not fragile,” Ginny promised, though Mike still looked doubtful. To prove her point, she pulled him back in and set about showing him how tough she was. 

Since then, Mike had been pretty reluctant to leave her side. Which made the one road trip she’d been on something of an experience. He hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible reason to follow the team to New York and Philadelphia, but Ginny had no doubt that he’d really tried. He’d had to settle for hourly text updates, and when she was too busy to reply, pumping his former teammates as subtly as possible for information on her condition. Since more than one of those teammates asked when Mike had gotten such separation anxiety, Ginny figured he was semi-successful.

Which was why she knew that Mike was secretly relieved the team had elected to put her on the DL rather than risk complications.

If she was being honest, Ginny was relieved, too. Unexpected or not, she’d already grown attached to the little bundle of cells growing inside her. Much as she loved her job, she wasn’t as disappointed to give up a season as she’d once thought she’d be. Then again, after four seasons in the show, Ginny no longer had to battle and grind and push to keep her spot in the rotation. No, she’d probably never move much beyond her spot as the number five starter, but her ERA and win-loss record spoke for itself. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Even after a baby.

So, the public could speculate and take to Facebook and Twitter to talk about her all they liked. They couldn’t change the fact that Ginny Baker was living the dream: a starting pitcher in MLB, married to the love of her life, and expecting her first child. 

That was real. That was tangible. That was true.

Unlike at least half the rumors currently flooding the internet. 

And real life, the life where Mike’s fingers were toying with her hair and she could smell their dinner simmering away on the stove, that was what mattered.

 

* * *

 

People said pregnancy was magical. 

Ginny had more than a few doubts on that front. 

Going into this, she had no illusions that her North Carolina public school sex education had been anything close to adequate. Which was why she’d set out to fill in the gaps in her understanding.

(Not the process of making the baby—she had plenty of experience with that, thank you—but what came after.)

And the more she read about pregnancy, with all its potential dangers and complications—the more horrified she became. 

“Did you read this?” she demanded throwing  _What To Expect When You’re Expecting_  on Mike’s cluttered desk. 

He peered at the book for a second before glancing up to her, his reading glasses slipping down his nose. Which just wasn’t playing fair. He knew how Ginny felt about his glasses. 

(In fact, it was potentially those exact feelings that would wind up taking all of Ginny’s research out of the realm of theoretical and landing it squarely in reality.)

“Which part?” he hedged, closing his laptop and giving her his full attention. 

That was one of the things about Mike. It didn’t matter how irrational Ginny knew she was being, he always treated her concerns and fears with nothing but complete gravity. And he never tried to talk her down without knowing what those concerns were. 

She swallowed. “All of it?”

“Not yet,” he answered honestly. “I kind of figured we had time on that front.” His eyes narrowed and darted down to her flat stomach before landing back on her face. “We do have time, right?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, which was apparently all she’d needed to let this pile of worries melt away for the time being. Ginny wouldn’t forget the things that’d scared her, but Mike was right. She didn’t need to worry about them now. “We’ve got time.”

But that was before she found out she was pregnant. 

In the after, Ginny had become remarkably zen about it all. Sure, she’d probably see pimples in places there hadn’t been since she was an acne-prone teenager and later she’d need to pee every fifteen minutes and the mood swings definitely didn’t sound like a walk in the park, which was to say nothing about the changes she’d have to make to her diet, but—

(And it was a pretty big “but.”)

But at the end of it all, she’d have someone who was the perfect blend of her and Mike. Someone who was proof positive of how much they loved each other. Someone to add to their family. 

And that was a fair payoff for what Ginny would have to go through to get to that point, she thought. 

Just. She didn’t always have to be reasonable about it, did she?

 

 

In retrospect, Ginny would acknowledge that she could’ve been less dramatic. But her whole life, she hadn’t been able to eat cilantro without thinking about the time her pop washed her mouth out with soap for repeating the curse Evan Larson had taught her in pre-K Sunday School. Now, she inhaled nearly half of Livan’s sopes before he remembered to tell her he’d asked for extra of the disgusting herb. 

What the hell had pregnancy done to her taste buds?

She’d honestly thought Mike would find the story funny, maybe even figure out how to get it down to 140 characters so he could tweet about it. 

(He’d really gotten into social media post-retirement. Eliot had been more than delighted to give him a tutorial that first winter, and soon, Mike could give the best of them a run for their money. Privately, Ginny thought he mostly used it to avoid finishing the memoir he’d insisted on writing himself, but whatever made him happy.)

She certainly hadn’t expected him to send out a panicked group text to nearly every one of their friends and acquaintances asking if they knew of her whereabouts. Since she’d been in the clubhouse, trying to keep up appearances that this assignment to the DL was injury-related, approximately half her teammates came rushing into the dining area to make sure Livan wasn’t in the process of murdering her or something.

Since the Cuban was too busy laughing his ass off at Ginny’s distress, which, while rude as hell, wasn’t going to kill her, most of them wandered off to finish their pre-game prep. Still, not a single Padre had any desire for their former captain to burst into the clubhouse in a haze of Ginny-induced panic. As team captain, Blip took it upon himself to inform his predecessor that his wife and future offspring were fine and headed home.

It wasn’t that Ginny didn’t feel bad for worrying him, but she also felt he could afford to take a step away from the edge of constant panic. Some time after that haze of blissful anticipation wore off, Mike dove headfirst into preparation mode. Like he'd absorbed all of Ginny's initial anxiety and multiplied it threefold, he hadn't stopped coming up with contingency plans and worst case scenarios in days. He called it nesting; Ginny'd call it something else. Currently, he was in the midst of trying to baby-proof the entire house and refusing to believe that they didn’t need a toilet lock for at least six more months.

(Ginny did her best to distract him when he really got going, and while there was a certain novelty in being the calm and steady one now, there were only so many times she could lure him back to bed—or the couch or the shower or even the kitchen table—without raising his suspicions.)

So, she listened to her captain and went home to talk Mike down. After all, the team wasn’t wrong in assuming it was only a matter of time before Mike burst into his former domain, wild-eyed and terrified. 

When she walked in the door, it was to that exact sight. 

Mike had clearly been pacing a hole in the floor, his car keys clutched in one hand, like he didn’t quite trust Blip’s report and was fully prepared to rush out if Ginny didn’t make it home quick enough. Any exasperation she might have felt faded away at the palpable fear etched across her husband’s face.

The keys dropped to the floor when he caught sight of her. In no time at all, he had Ginny wrapped up in his arms, his face pressed into her hair as shuddering breaths wracked his frame. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, smoothing her hands up and down his back. The muscles there didn’t quite relax, so she rucked up his shirt, laying her palms against his warm skin. By degrees, his breathing evened out, all while Ginny promised, low and sure, “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

He nodded but didn’t loosen his grip on her.

“Are you okay?”

Mike nodded again, and Ginny felt the precise effort it took for him to make the high-wire tension of his muscles loosen, approaching something close to normal. She pressed a kiss to his collarbone and another to the base of his throat, waiting until he sighed. 

Finally, she tipped her head back to look him in the eye. There were still more than a few jitters clanging around somewhere in that head of his, but he looked far more settled than he had been. 

“The sky’s not falling, Mike. I’m not gonna tell you not to worry, but this is a good thing, what we’ve done. Let’s enjoy it.”

“Okay, Gin,” he said, nodding his agreement. He’d follow her calls for this. There was still a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, but his smile was steady. 

That was a start, and, with them, a start was all they needed.

 

* * *

 

 

After Ginny asked Amelia to issue a statement about the impending addition to the Baker-Lawson family, she sort of expected to be done publicly talking about the state of her uterus. 

She was pregnant. She and Mike were very happy about it. She and the developing fetus renting out her womb for the next however many weeks were healthy. 

What else did anyone need to know?

How she’d ever deluded herself, Ginny would never know because within minutes of the statement going live, the news had exploded across the internet. It probably didn’t help that it wasn’t just ESPN and Fox Sports reporting on it. No, gossip sites and blogs had picked it up, too, and run with it.

Which was to say nothing about Twitter. 

All it took for people Ginny had never heard of, people she’d never meet or even pass on the street, to weigh in on her pregnancy was a valid email address and an internet connection. 

And they were all led by none other than her husband and his crusade to make #BabyBawson a thing.

If Mike was disappointed that she’d nixed all of his social media-based pregnancy announcements, he’d gotten over it quickly. He didn’t respond to  _every_  congratulatory tweet, but only because it was an impossible task. As soon as he’d get done with the last of them, a hundred more would’ve been posted. 

(Which didn't mean he didn't try for a while.)

When Ginny’d asked him to enjoy the ride, she was pretty sure this wasn’t what she meant. 

But, he was happy, and it was hard to argue with that. 

In fact, a lot of people were happy about this baby. People were excited for her, which was a gratifying change from the usual reaction when Ginny’s name was in the news. 

It was pretty overwhelming, too, if Ginny was being honest. Overwhelming enough that she mostly elected to stay off social media. 

If only her friends had gotten the memo.

 

 

Not that Ginny even minded Evelyn sharing this. It was different when it was her closest friend sharing her excitement. 

Ever since she first found out, Evelyn had been her rock. Evelyn was her only good friend who was also a mom. She was the only person Ginny could talk to about all the changes her body was going through or about what to expect next. 

After the requisite congratulatory hugs and celebrations and check ins, Evelyn Sanders got down to business, peppering Ginny with enough information to make her head spin. Everything from the various pros and cons of a midwife versus a doula to the nitty gritty details of breastfeeding to the best yoga positions to keep her back from getting too sore once she'd swelled up like a blimp was laid on the table.

“Oh, and we still have all the parenting and pregnancy books, so don’t worry about buying those, either.”

Ginny laughed, the weight of keeping this secret from her best friend lifting off her shoulders. “Ev, the boys are twelve! Were you just waiting for this moment?”

“Yes,” she responded immediately, setting Ginny off again. “I tried to donate them once, but Blip snuck them out of the box like I wouldn’t notice. I don’t think he’ll mind them going to you two, though.”

Blip hadn’t quite given up the dream of a baby girl Sanders, but he’d gotten much more philosophical about it all. With Ev back in school, and getting her business up and running, he could admit that the past few years wouldn’t have been ideal timing to add on to the Sanders clan. Anyway, he and Evelyn were still young; they had time. 

Maybe—just maybe—by the time Mike and Ginny were done with the books, Blip and Ev would need them again.  

After all, it'd be kind of nice for their families to have two generations and three sets of best friends.

So, the fact that Evelyn was ecstatic for her, that was nice to know, nice to have everlasting proof of, even if the world got to know about it, too.

And anyway, Evelyn’s online exuberance didn’t have anything on Mike’s.

 

 

He was an excited first time dad. How could Ginny blame him? 

Honestly, though, it didn’t bother her that people were talking about her. Not really. Sure, it was one thing for her husband and friend to talk about how excited they were and an entirely different one for a stranger to do it. That was more than a little strange, but she’d mostly accepted that that kind of attention was a part of her life now; ever since Ginny first started making waves in the minors, people had been talking about her. If she let it bug her, she’d never get anything done. 

Just, she didn’t particularly want to deal with it herself. 

So, she did her best to shrug off her clogged notifications on Twitter and Instagram and go about the business of growing another person inside of her. 

And, lately, fending off some of the truly ridiculous cravings that had taken over her refrigerator and life. 

The cravings, when they came, were no surprise. Remember, Ginny’d done her research. If anything, she’d been looking forward to them. Someone who’d already enjoyed her food, Ginny looked forward to a period of judgment-free eating. After all, was eating banana peppers on everything for a week straight that much stranger than some of the “health” foods her trainer had tried to convince her to eat?

She knew what Mike would say, but the little disagreements were what made a marriage interesting.

But while Ginny—and Mike, who had cheerfully taken on the sudden increase in grocery store runs—took these cravings in stride, the same couldn’t be said for the public at large.

Ginny’d always liked food and had never bothered to pretend she didn’t. But, since she was a woman in the public eye, this was often treated as some sort of alien anomaly. People always wanted to know what she was eating: her game day meals, what she had on cheat days, secret diet tips. 

Of course her cravings were no different.

Between Ev and Mike, people had definitely clued in and picked up on the fact that Ginny had really settled into the inexplicable cravings stage of pregnancy. There was tons of advice pouring in from all over the world. How to deal with it and what to do when they were impossible to sate. It was all incredibly sweet, even if Ginny couldn’t sympathize with the impulse to send a total stranger pregnancy advice.

Less sweet—more puzzling—was how invested people continued to be in these cravings of hers. 

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been so surprising that run of the mill pregnancy cravings had become such a fixation for people. The public at large was hungry for details—#BabyBawson had trended at least three times—that Mike and Ginny just weren’t providing. Since they’d chosen not to find out the sex of the baby, debates about possible names or future careers were too theoretical to keep anyone’s attention, and even though her and Mike’s relationship had caused something of a stir when they first went public, they’d now settled hard into boring domesticity. Well, Ginny wouldn’t call it boring, but she could see how cozy dinners at home and trips to the farmers market didn’t exactly make for riveting news.

Aside from Mike’s unbridled excitement, the only information anyone really had about Ginny’s pregnancy were the cravings. Where else would all that curiosity fixate?

It wasn’t until she came across Mike taking a picture of their grocery list, though, that Ginny realized just how fixated it was. 

He frowned down at the pad of paper sitting on their kitchen table, next to the neglected bags of groceries and his keys. As Ginny started putting things away, approvingly noting that he’d anticipated her sudden desire for Nutella and bananas on toast, Mike squinted up at the overhead light and shifted, his shadow moving away from the table. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, already unscrewing the jar. Why wait for toast, anyway? A spoon was good enough. 

“Taking a picture,” he replied absently. 

Ginny rolled her eyes, not that Mike noticed. She drifted over to his side and propped her chin on his shoulder, peering down at the phone in his hand. 

“Are you seriously posting our grocery list to instagram?”

“Our third grocery list this week,” he corrected, bumping her hip with his, but failing to dislodge her. 

Ginny just laughed, leaning harder into his side. She didn’t pay much attention as he picked his filter and fiddled with the settings; she was too busy planning on getting him back in bed for an afternoon nap. When he made a satisfied noise, though, she turned her attention back to the screen and couldn’t help but laugh again.

“What?” Mike asked, grinning down at her. 

“Our unborn baby does not need two hashtags. It doesn’t even need one!”

He laughed, too, and kissed her forehead. “That’s not what the internet thinks, Gin,” he said, and sent the picture out into the world.

 

 

Whether he meant to or not, with just one post, Mike set off a verifiable social media movement. Seriously, when Eliot looked into it, he couldn’t help but be impressed by how quickly the hashtag took off.

The one time she brought herself to look at the search results, it was mostly full of people talking about how cute it all was, how excited Mike was about her pregnancy. 

Ginny couldn’t disagree.

He was cute. Ginny’d lost track of the number of pictures of onesies and maternity shirts he’d texted her, mostly without comment but the intent clear. Still, she had every single one saved in a folder on her phone. Going to Target with him had become next to impossible since he always ended up in the baby aisle, staring in awe at all the tiny shoes and blankets and toys. 

If Ginny’d thought about it, a picture of that—bearded, take no shit Mike Lawson undone by the sight of some baby essentials—would’ve blown #EatWithBabyBawson out of the water. 

As it was, she liked getting to keep that part of him all to herself. 

Even if the internet was blowing up with her eating habits as fast as Mike could supply them. She’d leave the social media stuff to him.

Except then her teammates had to go and get involved. 

 

* * *

 

Technically, there was no reason for Ginny to keep going into Petco. She wasn’t actually injured. It wasn’t like she had to check in with the team trainers or make sure she was keeping up with her workouts. (Which she was; Ginny might be taking more naps than she was used to, but even pregnancy couldn’t completely erase her practically boundless energy.)

Then again, she’d spent her entire adult life in and out of stadiums. It didn’t feel right to be anywhere else during baseball season. 

Her teammates were generally pretty good about her and her growing baby bump’s presence in the clubhouse. There were enough dads on the team that no one hassled her.

Well, not in ways she couldn’t take.

 

 

Ginny didn’t care what anyone said. That omelette was delicious. She even got Jean-Luc to try it and in spite of his refined Parisian sensibilities, he’d admitted she was on to something. 

So had every Padre that she’d convinced to take a bite. 

Which was, admittedly, a pretty small group. Not that she could blame them considering how territorial she’d been over her bag of Funyuns the other day. Sonny was just too busy smarting from the way she’d smacked the snack out of his hands to admit to her culinary genius.

And really, they were just lucky she hadn’t shown up with the peanut butter and black olives kick she’d been on the week before. 

In protest, Ginny resolved to steer clear of the clubhouse for a while. See how much they liked having the clubhouse menu go back to skinless chicken breasts and steamed vegetables every meal. They’d beg to have her back in no time flat.

Habit was a hard thing to break, though, and the following day, Ginny found herself back at Petco Park. Frowning, she stared up at the familiar facade outside the players’ entrance. She couldn’t go inside. Not if she wanted to teach her ungrateful teammates a lesson. 

So, rather than winding her way to the clubhouse, deep below the stands and concession booths, Ginny decided to stay well above ground. Cheerfully, she circled around to the front gates, calling Eliot as she walked.

It’d been a long time since she’d actually had the chance to sit and watch a game; she might as well take advantage of the opportunity. And since Mike was knee deep in edits to his memoirs, Ginny figured her beleaguered social media manager was the perfect recipient for her second standing ticket. 

After all, she’d put him through quite a bit lately. Even though Ginny still replied to the tweets and Instagram posts from her friends and teammates and whoever else Eliot deemed appropriate on her own, he took care of the rest. 

And the rest was substantial.

Technically, this was well above his pay grade. As Vice President of New Media in the Slater Management Group, monitoring one client’s social media presence should’ve been far beneath his notice. But Ginny didn’t quite trust the horde of interns and associates Amelia’d hired to form the base of her sports agency empire. 

And anyway, Eliot was a bit of a pushover. Supply him with enough snacks, and he’d do anything.

 

 

Ginny wasn’t exaggerating. She really could only go so fast, which was its own adjustment to make. In spite of all the eating she’d been doing, she hadn’t put on a ton of weight. It was the bump that slowed her down. Practically overnight, it’d blown up, delighting Mike who already had a hard time keeping his hands off her.

Where before she’d been able to hide the swell in loose tops and baggy sweatshirts, there was now no denying that Ginny Baker had been knocked up, and Mike couldn’t be any more smug about it. 

“You popped,” he grinned, coming up behind her as she frowned at her reflection in the mirror. This shirt had fit just last week. How was it pulled so tight now?

His hands landed on the fullest part of her belly, and Ginny couldn’t even bring herself to roll her eyes. Instead, she turned slightly to the side to better observe the molehill that’d become something of a mountain. 

“I guess I did,” she finally laughed, leaning back against Mike. “It’s not so bad, right? I mean, as long as I don’t get bigger.”

Wishful thinking. 

That’d been a few weeks ago and it seemed like all Ginny’d done since then was get bigger.

She didn’t feel slow per se, but she was suddenly so much more conscious of how she had to navigate spaces. Not only did she have to escape the grasping hands of strangers—Seriously, what about a pregnant woman’s stomach made people so eager to reach out and touch?—she had to plan her routes differently, allow herself more time to make it from Point A to Point B. Ginny could no longer slip through crowds or skip down the stadium stairs without a second thought. Maybe Mike and his worries had rubbed off on her, but she was conscious of every step she took now, careful in the extreme.

If some of her teammates were more than willing to poke fun at her for this, Ginny didn’t really mind. 

After all, she was more than capable of getting them back.

 

 

(Like he could’ve said anything else when she knew exactly where he slept. Still, Ginny made sure he knew exactly how happy his response had made her the first chance she got.)

And he didn’t keep his petty vengeances to the internet, either.

He did look to it for his inspiration, though.

 

 

During the All-Star Break, for those Padres unlucky enough to neither be selected to the team nor have any real plans to get out of it, Mike hosted what he named: “Top Chef: Not-So All-Stars.”

He thought it was funny, at least.

It was less a cooking competition than an excuse to make his former teammates come congratulate him on his impending fatherhood and bring food along with them.

Ginny did taste test every dish, though. Less because she wanted to rank them and more because she wanted to see what their wives and girlfriends had to put up with on a regular basis. 

Either being pregnant was messing with her tastebuds more than she’d thought, or her teammates were less of a disaster in the kitchen than she’d expected. Nearly every single one of them produced something that Ginny wouldn’t mind eating. Most of it even passed Mike’s more exacting standards. 

“Did you seriously make Lorena eat this last time she was pregnant?” he asked Salvi, peering suspiciously at the casserole dish. 

“Make her? It was all she’d eat for four days straight. I though I was going to have to invest in Ore-Ida to keep enough tater tots in her house to keep her and the boys fed.”

Mike still looked skeptical. 

“Just try it, old man,” Ginny teased, already trying to decide which of her teammates’ cooking she was going to try next. Omar’s ropa villeja looked pretty promising. “Or Salvi’s gonna think you’re chicken.”

When the first baseman started clucking under his breath, Mike swept a mutinous glare between him and his wife, who definitely wasn’t holding in a burst of laughter, and scooped a heaping forkful into his mouth. After a long moment of thoughtful chewing, he swallowed and pronounced, “That was disgusting.”

Ginny didn’t bother reining in her laughter after that.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t just her teammates and friends that got in on the fun, though. Ever since Mike had created #EatWithBabyBawson, people had been adding to it like crazy. Eliot always made sure to tell her when it trended in San Diego. 

Which was essentially every other day.

Mostly, it was people documenting their sightings of Ginny in the wilds of the city, creating a spotty map of her movements and the evolution of her cravings from day to day. 

Needless to say, as Ginny’s food swings (as Evelyn had taken to calling them) rolled on and on, there were many points of data to add. Hundreds of little incidents between Ginny and fans, all documented for posterity on social media.

 

 

And Mike encouraged them. 

If they were approached in a restaurant and Ginny was feeling up to it, he always cheerfully took a picture of his wife and her fan and often even sweet talked his way into getting a copy of the photo for himself. Ginny wasn’t unconvinced he wasn’t saving them in a scrapbook somewhere. 

He certainly had more than enough material. 

If Ginny wasn’t feeling up to it, though, Mike was the best buffer in the world. Even if he weren’t naturally charming, he’d learned over his close to two decades in the show how to interact with fans, how to joke and cajole and make a stellar first impression without doing all that much. It was one of the things Ginny admired about him. While she could fake her way through any number of uncomfortable interactions, Mike hardly ever got uncomfortable in the first place. He was too easy in his skin for that. 

Either way, the sheer number of positive Ginny-and-Mike interactions with the citizens of San Diego certainly had to be laid at Mike’s door. The bigger Ginny’s belly grew, the testier she got.

While she was always grateful for fans and their support, she was more than happy to leave their appeasement to Mike. After all, he wasn’t the one growing a whole new person. 

And he was more than happy to take that responsibility. Especially since it meant he got to trawl the internet for more fodder for the scrapbooks he swore he wasn’t making.

 

 

 

 

He showed the last one to her as they sat in bed at the end of a long day at the beginning of August. There were still two months to go until Ginny’s due date, but she couldn’t imagine getting bigger. Lying flat and looking down her body, she couldn’t see her toes unless she lifted one swollen ankle into the air. Which she did to frown at how fat her feet had gotten. 

She paused in this endeavor, though, when Mike waved his tablet at her. Ginny obligingly took it and skimmed over the story. When she was done, she handed it back and informed him, “I don’t even wanna know how you find this stuff.” 

“Then I won’t tell you,” he replied, prompt, before raising one eyebrow at her. The grin on his face had her melting even before he teased, “Sounds like someone’s got a crush on you. Should I be worried?”

Laughing, even as a little foot drummed away inside her belly, Ginny teased, “As long as you don’t cut off my animal style fries like you did all my cheese plates.”

“Listeria’s no joke, Baker.”

She waved him off, but plucked one hand from his tablet and laid it low against her stomach. What only a few months ago had been a slight flutter against her insides had become a definite kick. Mike’s face lit up and he abandoned his device and scooted down the bed so he could press his ear to the dome of her belly. Ginny watched fondly, even when the kicks shifted to her kidneys. 

“Once this thing’s out of me, I’m eating so much brie, Lawson,” she promised. 

“I’ll buy up all the cheese in France if that’s what you want.”

“And the wine, too?”

“So greedy,” he laughed, lifting up so he could press a kiss against her smiling mouth. When he pulled away, he said, “Whatever you want, Gin. It’s yours.”

“Just you. Just you and this one,” she said, laying her hand back against her stomach, right next to his. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

 

* * *

 

By the end, Ginny wouldn’t say that she completely understood the dynamics of #EatWithBabyBawson, but she’d also accepted that that was okay. It didn’t matter that she had no clue what most of these people got out of it. 

There was something, and it didn’t matter that she was on the outside of it.

What she did know was how lucky she and her unborn baby were to have so many people in the world who cared so deeply about them. These were good people who wanted only the best for her and her family, and were trying to make sure, in whatever small ways they could, that she had an easy pregnancy.

(And if she got some excellent restaurant recommendations out of it, that was just a bonus.

 

 

Ginny’d be lying if she said she didn’t go out and try each and every one of these. They did not disappoint, either.)

So while her cravings had settled down and she was back to mostly eating like herself, she still appreciated the fact that people took time out of their day to worry about her. 

These were good eggs. Ginny didn’t completely understand them, but she was grateful for them nonetheless.

Which was why, even minutes after her water broke, while Mike dashed around the house collecting her go bag and going through his three separate checklists, Ginny sat down at the kitchen table. 

Waiting at her place was the snack she’d just made for herself. Nothing fancy— the opposite of fancy, in reality—but she’d really been looking forward to eating it. Maybe it was the prospect of her own child’s nearing due date, but Ginny’d been thinking about her own childhood lately, and an after school classic sounded delicious. 

She was just coming back to the table with a glass of water when she felt something wet spill down her legs. 

Frowning at the still full glass, reality didn’t set in until Mike cursed behind her. 

“Did your water break?” he asked, faint. 

“I think it did,” she replied. 

And he was off, leaving Ginny to contemplate her uneaten snack.

Mike rushed back into the kitchen, looking pale and eager and vaguely nauseous, just as Ginny fished her phone from her pocket and gingerly eased into her waiting chair.

“Ginny, what are you  _doing_?” he demanded, sounding like he’d love nothing more than to pick her up bodily and deposit her in the car so they could dash off to the hospital. 

“Taking a picture,” she snarked back. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as Mike shifted impatiently at her side. Once everything was just how she wanted, she tapped the screen one last time and sent the picture out into the world. 

Only then did she turn to look at Mike and, with a smile, say, “What are you waiting for? Let’s go have a baby.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh!!! I was gonna post this next week, but I got too excited. I'm actually really happy with the way this turned out. Is it perfect? No, but I had so much fun plotting this all out and hunting down pictures. If I were more talented at photoshop, I would've tried to do a manip that actually put Ginny and Mike together, but I know my limits. 
> 
> Anyway, huge thank you to Kelci for the prompt and shout outs to everyone who let me use their url so I wouldn't have to come up with random ones on my own. You're stars, all of you!
> 
> Was there anyone's social media presence that I missed out on? Any platform? (Aside from facebook. I actually kind of forgot facebook existed for a while... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯) As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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